Home Sweet Home
by Guinevere137
Summary: Eragon pulls you close to his chest, rocking the two of you back and forth as he hums a soft song you know is from his childhood in Carvahall. You lean your head on his chest, gazing at the tapestry above the fireplace, and you're home.


You sent the box down and glance around. The room is spacious, and while Eragon insists that Elven simplicity is best for Dragon Riders, you know you can convince him that a home is not a home without furniture.

You turn to the box that you just sent down. You open it. Inside, there is a tapestry that your mother weaved before her death, one that you have held onto for years. Gently, you lift it from the box and unfurl it, casting about the room for a place to hang it.

Over the fireplace, you decide, is the perfect place for the tapestry, and you are just about to go hang it when a voice stops you.

"Do you need any help?" You turn.

Eragon is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, hands in the pockets of his trousers. He smiles at you, then holds his hands out for the tapestry. Reluctantly, you wonder over and hand it to him.

Eragon is a good bit taller that you, and it is for that reason that he can hang the tapestry a decent height over the fireplace. "Is it straight?" he calls to you, and you nod before remembering that his back is turned to you.

"Yes," you manage, staring at its beauty. A sudden burst of homesickness hits you, and you duck your head. Probably reading your mind, (or at least your emotions) Eragon hangs the tapestry and turns around.

Seeing your distress, he walks over to you and takes you in his arms. You press your face into his shoulder, and he pats your hair, "It does get easier, you know," he promises. "It gets easier…"

Your dragon only hatched for you six months ago. In that time, you and Eragon had met and fallen in love, and while that made things so much easier than you think they would have been, it doesn't change that fact that you miss your family.

The guilt you feel is overwhelming. Since your mother died, your father has taken to running the farm with an iron fist, leaving your sister trapped in a household only marriage will break her free of. It was by pure chance that the eggs brought to your village hatched for you and one of your sisters. Pure luck got you out of that hellhole. Your youngest sister has no such luck.

You pull away just a tad, just enough to speak, but before you can, your sister's face flashes through your mind and you start to cry. Eragon pulls you close again, and you sob into his shoulder for several minutes.

A thought enters your mind, one that is not your own. It is a soft, questioning feeling, one full of gentle kindness. Your dragon. You stand up straight, pull away from Eragon, and wipe your eyes. You send a quick response to your dragon, telling him that you're fine. Whether or not he believes you is another story.

"Are you alright now?" Eragon asks gently, and you nod. "Good," he kisses your forehead and walks toward the door, calling over his shoulder, "Why don't we get the rest of the boxes, yes?"

"Alright," you call, voice still watery. You follow him outside.

Your new home was sung by the elves of the Academy, a wedding gift to you and Eragon. It sits at the top of a tall tree, in true elven style, and has stairs that, admittedly, you hate. They're tall and deep and overall too much for a human, and while you're certain you'll get used to them, for now they are a burden.

Saphira and your dragon wait for you at the bottom of the steps. Your dragon's head slithers over to you, and you pat his snout. "I love you too," you whisper to him. He prefers to communicate in feelings rather than words, "I'm fine, love, really." He doesn't seem to believe you, but he lets it go.

Saphira, like you, does not see the point in the stairs when you both have dragons. As such, she refuses to allow her Rider to use them whenever possible and has taken it upon herself to have most of your boxes loaded onto your dragon and onto her. She takes off as soon as Eragon has mounted her, heading for the treetop. You and your dragon follow suit.

There is a large window in the bedroom where the dragons can land, and it is there that you find Saphira and Eragon. Eragon has already begun pulling the boxes from his dragon's back, and you call out to him. He looks up, smiles, and gestures for Saphira to make room for your dragon to land. As soon as she does, you enter your bedroom.

Most of the furniture is already up here. Two small sofas and a chair take up the doorway into the front room, where a few dwarven Riders had left them two hours ago. Eragon, upon finding that he lacks the space to add boxes, begins to move them out of the doorway.

"Where did you even get all of this?" he asks you, and you laugh despite yourself.

"Your friend Jeod still has some friends in Teirm that are willing to trade with me," you answer smugly. Eragon turns to you.

"Jeod?" he asks. "When did you speak with Jeod?"

"At the wedding," you explain. "He and Helen wanted to know what he could do for us as a wedding gift. I told him if he could put us in contact with a few choice furniture traders we would be happy with that."

Eragon frowns. "Surely I was there for that," he mutters, "What was I doing?"

You laugh once again, "Throwing chicken into Saphira's mouth!"

Eragon chuckles to himself and shakes his head. "Alright then, but how much did this all cost?"

Your mouth goes thin. He won't like it when you tell him, but it was the only deal the trader was willing to make. You'd offered gold, jewels, silk, dozens of items Eragon would have been fine parting with, but _this _was what the man wanted. "His daughter," you begin slowly. "She's ten years old, and he doesn't think he'll be able to marry her off well. She's not all that pretty, see. So—"

"What did you do?" Eragon asks, temper flaring. He already knows where this is going.

"He just wanted a _chance, _just a few moments with the egg—that's all! So, I told him that my sister would—"

"Your sister?" Eragon cries. "You got your sister in on this?"

"She just ferried the egg! I really did not think it would be such a big issue!"

"You and your sister stole an egg and brought it to Teirm, but you did not think it would be an issue?!"

*Little one, * Saphira's voice echoes through the room. Eragon stops, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

"The egg," he asks when he had a hold on himself, "What happened to it?"

He won't like this much, either, "You have a new Dragon Rider! Surprise!"

You expect Eragon to explode, to yell at you, but instead he merely nods and goes silent. You don't know what's worse. Still, you know better than to press your husband when he's upset, so you turn to your dragon and begin unloading boxes. Eragon goes back to moving the sofa.

Eragon comes to you several hours later, a mug of mead in each hand. He gives one to you, and you accept it, knowing it's his version of a peace offering. "I'm sorry I yelled," he whispers tucking your hair behind your ear. "I was just surprise, is all."

"I should have talked to you first," you admit, and he laughs a little.

"Yes, you should have," he agrees. "No matter…what's done is done…" He sets his mead on the coffee table and pulls you toward the fireplace. You barely have enough time to set your own mug down.

Eragon pulls you close to his chest, rocking the two of you back and forth as he hums a soft song you know is from his childhood in Carvahall. You lean your head on his chest, gazing at the tapestry above the fireplace, and you're home.


End file.
